


Zunali Lake, Florida

by DixieDale



Series: The U.N.C.L.E. Agent's Cautionary Guide To Travel [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 03:11:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17973371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: It had been a mission filled with questions, the primary one being, of course, "is Zunali Lake in danger of becoming a Thrush outpost?"But there were others.  For example,*Napoleon Solo -  "Do you think Mr. Waverly would be upset if we changed our minds?"*Alexander Waverly - "Mr. Solo, do you expect me to solve all your little inconveniences for you?"*Illya - "Napoleon, how do you feel about snakes?"





	Zunali Lake, Florida

Zunali Lake, Florida, USA  
≠ Overall Rating

≈C Food and Lodging - Mama K's - simple, clean accommodations, but food excellent, especially the fried catfish. The alligator stew is also worthwhile. Note: Mandatory prior contact for any intrusion into Zunali Lake territory!!  
=+ Transportation - Drake's Fanboats - extremely expensive, but reliable and the experienced guides come armed and dangerous

Exceptional Requirements: Machete and extra ammunition; Insect repellent and snake bite kit

Contraindications: Herpetophobia, Ailurophobia  
Suggestions: Have Animal Control on speed dial  
Allergy Alert, especially cats  
Ω ¶ £ § Supernatural Presence; Here Be Dragons; Unfriendly; Bad, Really Bad!

It had all started when UNCLE got a report that there was a prospective new Thrush outpost in Florida, to the west of Miami, near the Big Cypress National Preserve. 

Hearing the story later, Mark Slate and April Dancer could only thank their lucky stars that they had been in the frozen north tracking down news of a Thrush plot to use penguins to convey explosives, (luckily a false rumor, seeing as how both agents rather vaguely LIKED penguins and hated to think about them being misused like that), and therefore not available to be handed the Zunali Lake assignment. 

Napoleon Solo and Illya Kuryakin, just back from a little jaunt to Stockholm, weren't so lucky, and had been tapped on the shoulder by a rather bleary-eyed and sniffling Alexander Waverly.

"Thrush has, for some very good reasons, stayed clear of that part of the country, gentlemen, although a goodly number of others flock there, at least seasonally. I believe they are called 'snowbirds'." He glanced at Kuryakin and nodded to cede the floor to the Russian.

"Yes, Napoleon. The area is already well populated with power figures, gangs, the mob. Though that is a bit too vague, of course, not giving one the true feel for the scope - Italian, Sicilian, Cuban, Russian, Irish, Vietnamese, Chinese, and various others, all have their place, and their grip on their territory. Perhaps even Thrush would feel a little outnumbered."

"Precisely, Mr. Kuryakin. However, in spite of that, it would appear there is a newcomer on the scene," reaching out to refer to the file in front of him, "a Mr. 'Rique Dumair. He is a fairly minor Thrush operative, but he seems to feel he can gain a foothold in the area, and our understanding is that, once that is secure, he intends to offer it to Thrush as an outpost and thus move quite a few rungs up the ladder. That must not happen, gentlemen. The Florida police have more than enough on their hands as it is; they do not need Thrush as well."

"Our instructions, sir?" Napoleon murmurred, paying perhaps a little more attention to the young woman in the tight skirt and even tighter white blouse who was delivering Mr. Waverly's newly-refilled humidor than to his superior's instructions. A sharp cough brought his attention back quickly, to meet the glaring blue eyes of Alexander Waverly.

"Thank you, Mr. Solo. It is so nice to have your full attention once again." 

Napoleon glanced over to see his partner gallantly suppressing a smile at that rebuke.

"You will go to Zunali Lake and determine how this Dumair intends to claim his territory and whether he indeed intends to turn it over to Thrush. If that is the case, you will stop him, Mr. Solo, you and Mr. Kuryakin. Is that plain enough? Or shall I have Miss Wilson type it on a notecard for you to take with you? You HAVE met Miss Wilson, haven't you?" giving a cool, rather jaundiced eye to the pretty woman just exiting the room.

Solo cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Yes, sir, I have, and no sir, that won't be necessary. I will remember."

"So I would hope. Dismissed. And Mr. Solo? DO be chary with the expense account; I do not want a repeat of last month's conversation."

"Yes, sir."

As they left, Illya inquired, "last month?" He'd been in Tangiers, alone, at the time expense reports had been submitted the month prior.

"Yes, Mr. Wavery and the Accounts Department were a little annoyed over my expense report. Well, even more than usual. You know, Illya, it's not really fair. It's not as if I PLAN to get my suits ruined, you know."

"Perhaps if you limited the wearing of your more expensive suits to the localities less likely to lead to mayhem? I never have seen the necessity for wearing a custom suit for everyday. In fact, I've never seen much necessity for wearing a custom suit at all."

Napoleon grimaced, looking down at the off the rack attire of his partner. "Obviously," shuddering at the thought of wearing such on a regular basis. Or, frankly, even once in a while.

 

Whatever they had been expecting, this was not it. Oh, the trip to the edge of the Big Cypress National Preserve, then on by courtesy of that fanboat they'd hired from a place recommended by the closest UNCLE office was pretty much the 'Florida swamp experience' they'd been expecting, though not anticipating with any great pleasure. 

This place also had been recommended, if only with a vague "unless you want to sleep in the boat, that's the only other choice out there, guys". Since the guy behind the counter at Drake's Fanboats had ruled out the whole sleeping in the boat idea, here they were, stepping out onto a wooden dock and looking up at the house shimmering in the heat.

The building seemed so out of place, a mid-sized white Colonial in the middle of a swamp. The patroness, Mama K, on the other hand, dressed in a flowing muslin garment, had a regal look that would not have been out of place anywhere she chose to abide, from Rio to Paris to here, at Zunali Lake. Tall and straight, with grey hair that had obviously once been coal black piled into a coronet, skin of a pure, rich reddish-bronze. The laugh-lines at the corners of her eyes did not betray her age so much as give her face a distinctive character. This was a woman of great depths, not one to be toyed with.

Yes, she had room for them; yes, she would be pleased to have them as her guests; yes, she understood they would be coming and going frequently. Napoleon had explained he and Illya were writers and photographers, working on a series of articles. 

While his explanation might not have been true, or even all that convincing, Mama K had just nodded, and smiled in a dignified manner, and showed them to a large room on the second floor. She pointed out the connecting door to another like room, but didn't seem too concerned about where each of the men might settle in, which wasn't always the case. 

Whichever, it seemed they would be sharing the bath and shower, though a fast check told them it would provide cold, well, room temperature water at best. The beds were equipped with mosquito netting, the windows with screens and gauze curtains, and an overhead fan, along with a small rather ancient fan which sat on a desk in the corner. Somehow Napoleon knew better than to ask about air conditioning.

A surprisingly tasty dinner awaited them downstairs, and the night was peaceful enough, once they got used to the very odd sounds in the night. Mama K had warned them about those, telling them not to let themselves be alarmed. 

"The gators, now they have a wide assortments of sounds, growls, hisses, and they can make a booming sound as well, when the big males are in a romantic mood. The big cats can do some howling, for certain, each kind having their own sound. The big owls and other night birds make their own music too. Not to mention the smaller creatures, some with a much louder voice than you would think. There is a tiny tree frog, no bigger than a pecan, that sounds like he is the size of a dinner plate; perhaps it is a reflection of his self-image, eh?" giving a husky laugh.

She'd departed, they'd each had a lukewarm shower and turned in. Once the concert started outside, Napoleon remarked, "you know, I thought she was just trying to have a little fun with us, but it really DOES sound like a zoo out there!"

"Perhaps, but her talk of big cats, that was untrue, certainly, at least as to the several kinds. This area is known to have only the Florida panther, and not in any great quantities. I doubt any of those are among what we are hearing, Napoleon. And MUST you hog the entire pillow? And no, I do not wish to use you as my pillow; it is much too warm for that. Go to sleep." 

Well, it turned out it wasn't all THAT warm, so it took awhile before they drifted off to sleep, but when they did, they slept with no interruptions.

In the morning they sat down to biscuits and eggs and potatoes and some kind of meat they decided not to question the source of - it wasn't bacon or ham or anything they'd tasted before, though palatable enough. While they were eating, they decided to sound out their hostess on the man they were interested in. 

She knew quite a lot, it would appear, was willing to talk. In fact, she continued doling out information all through breakfast, and all the way down to the docks where the guide from Drake's was to pick them up.

"He come along a couple, three months ago, claiming he's the nephew of ole Louie Dumair what ran traps up the river aways. Louie disappeared on a gathering trip not so long ago; never heard of a nephew before, but Louie wasn't much one for talking, so it could be well enough."

"This one, he's no friendlier that his uncle, for sure; uses that shotgun to run anyone off, they get too close. Brought some people in with him; calls the whole lot 'The Servants of Apophis', says he's their High Priest. Seems this Apophis is a snake god out of Egypt or some place. Don't know why he'd want to be here, stead of there, but then, my people didn't come from around here neither, so I suppose I don't have much room to talk. Thing is, there DO seem to be a lot more snakes around than there was, especially the really big ones, and he claims that's cause he can talk to them, make them do his bidding."

"If he kept to that little piece of swamp that ole Louie called his, don't know too many would mind. But seems, he thinks whatever touches that land should be his too, and he just keeps moving out in a bigger circle. Some of that land, it's already got those who claim it, and it's gotten a little snarly. Jody Boudreau, now, he just shrugs, says he likes a good snake stew, and the skins be worth something in the shops, so he's not standing in the way. Course, this Dumair don't seem to like the idea of his 'pets' being harvested like that, so there is more than a little tension there."

"Big problem is with young Kishara. Sweet thing, she is, you stay on her good side, but has firm ideas about her land and those who live there. Don't intend to give an inch, and looks to be deciding she don't much like that Dumair making himself to home right next door neither. She got her people started delivering some of Dumair's pets right to Boudreau's door in tubs, necks snapped; Boudreau says he's likely to get spoiled not even having to go hunting for them as much as he was."

"Well, Dumair, he aint liking that one bit, and it's gotten a little heated. In fact," Mama K shook her grey head and mourned, "fighting like cats and dogs they be, that Kishara, that 'Rique Dumair," and then she got that sly grin on her face. 

"Well, maybe not so much like cats and dogs, not SO much," and made that tee hee, tee hee sound all the way back down the path, back to the house. That sound was the oldest thing about her, making her sound a hundred, at least, though otherwise she could easily have passed for fifty or sixty.

Napoleon still got the feeling he would have preferred to go with her, no matter how off-putting that cackle of hers, rather than with the efficient-looking and heavily-armed guide from Drake's Fanboats into the depths of Zunali Lake. Even Illya had a very uncomfortable look about him, one even the heat and humidity couldn't quite account for. 

"Do you think Mr. Waverly would understand if we changed our minds, Illya, and just called this whole thing off?"

"No" came out in a flat monotone.

"That's what I thought," Napoleon Solo sighed. 

 

After three days of roaming the territory, speaking to a few people, spying out the lay of the land, so to speak, they'd been relieved to take a break, head back to Miami to do a little more research, restock on necessary supplies. It was amazing how fast the insect repellent had given out. 

And, frankly, neither were unhappy about the prospect of once again experiencing hot showers and air conditioning. Mama K's was clean and the food was good, but the accommodations did not lean toward what Illya called 'the sybaritic', and what Napoleon called 'possessing of the basic necessities'.

They'd checked in to the highrise hotel in downtown Miami, made their way to their room on the seventh floor, and prepared to get cleaned up before ordering dinner from room service.

"Napoleon, how do you feel about snakes?"

Somehow that wasn't a question the senior agent wanted to hear just before retiring after a very long, very wearisome and not overly productive day. Turning toward his partner, jacket still only halfway on the hanger, he wondered at the odd look on Illya's face.

"Why?" had been his cautious answer.

"Because there appears to be a very large one in our bed."

 

Alexander Waverly had discounted all Mama K had told them, along with the other rumors about 'Rique Dumair being a High Priest of some obscure snake cult, considering that was just a highly-inventive cover for a rather ambitious Thrush operative. 

"For heaven's sake, Mr. Solo! Obviously a ruse to keep casual sightseers away! Do try to focus, if you don't mind! If I wanted fanciful nonsense, I would have send Mr. Slate and Miss Dancer, you know!"

Mr. Waverly hadn't been all that interested in anything else the two agents had to say, and even Illya thought Napoleon was overdoing his whining about the conditions. It wasn't as if they hadn't been in far worse places, after all.

But as for discounting all those 'rumors', Illya and Napoleon decided they might just have to rethink the matter. There was just something about the presence of a fifteen foot Burmese python in their queen sized bed on the seventh floor of a modern hotel in downtown Miami that called for re-evaluating the whole situation.

Room Service had not been pleased at the call, had thought it was a prank. In fact, the Assistant Manager had been there promptly to put an end to such nonsense; he hadn't stayed but a couple of seconds, though, for some odd reason. 

Animal Control had not been particularly pleased either, seeming almost offended by the notion, and wanting to blame the two out of town visitors for the whole incident. Illya had been rather short with them. 

"Do you think I smuggled it in inside my shaving kit???" as the team reluctantly tackled the logistics of removing the hefty creature from the bed, the room and the hotel. Napoleon and Illya stood well back, letting the experts handle matters. 

Mr. Waverly had been absolutely dismissive at Napoleon's report, seeming to feel they were mis-representing, or at least mistaking both the species and the size and the malignant intent of either the reptile or whoever had provided the creature with transport to their room and their bed.

Well, perhaps that earlier call from Solo drawing their superior's attention to the excessive humidity and mosquitoes and various other inconveniences had rather tried the man's patience. 

"Mr. Solo! I DO have things I need to get done! Are you next going to call me because the thermostat in your hotel room is set at the wrong temperature??! You are a supposedly capable UNCLE agent; deal with the situation. Do you expect me to solve all your little inconveniences for you??!!!"

Napoleon reluctantly had to admit Illya HAD warned him, though he truly felt this 'inconvenience' was anything but 'little'.

Illya reminded his partner, "he is coming down with a summer cold, Napoleon. He is even snapping at Lisa Rogers, and you know he rarely does that. Do not annoy him unnecessarily, or he might find somewhere truly unpleasant to send us next." Napoleon refrained from asking Illya just where he thought would count as 'more unpleasant' than where they were, considering.

They'd rapidly packed their bags, dropping off their keys at the front desk, and only gave the desk clerk an incredulous look when they were given a slightly tentative, "I hope you enjoyed your stay??"

Well, the young man had been one of the several staring in disbelief as the ten men from Animal Control carted off the unwelcome visitor. How did he THINK they enjoyed their stay??!

Napoleon was about to open the trunk of their rental car to toss his suitcase inside when the note of strain in Illya's voice stopped him.

"Napoleon, you never said how you feel about snakes. And do you happen to remember the number for Animal Control?"

Solo sat his suitcase on the curb and slowly walked to where his partner stood, gazing in through the thankfully-closed window of the rental. 

"Ah, yes. Well, as a matter of fact, I'm not all that fond of them, individually or en masse," looking at the seething 'mass' covering every inch of the upholstery and floor boards. "Do you think Dumair is trying to send a message?"

 

Yes, Dumair was, and it boiled down to "Zunali Lake is my territory; stay out!"

Adding to the complexity of the situation was the fact that Zunali Lake was, in fact, NOT Dumair territory; it was disputed territory between newcomer Dumair and Kishara DiSantos, hereditary leader of a wide-flung family reputed to be 'leopard people'. They had just been informed of that by a phone call from the local office, confirming at least part of what Mama K had already told them. 

The voice on the phone had seemed to find that an amusing thought, or maybe he was just amused at Solo and Kuryakin's inquiring about Zunali Lake in the first place, that they'd been out there and were intending to go back. He DID get a request for a full report of anything they found. After all, they'd been told, in perfect honesty, that no one from the local office had ever been out there. There was even a sound explanation for that.

"Allergies, you know." 

Solo looked at the phone, rather disgruntled. Maybe HE should develop an allergy or two, just for future convenience.

"And they don't go there because of allergies, whatever THAT is supposed to mean! Can you see Waverly letting us get away with that excuse?" Napoleon Solo declared in exasperation, repeating all he'd just been told. He didn't get a reply and looked over at his partner, brows raised in question. "Illya?"

A deeply aggrieved sigh came from the Russian. "I suppose it could have something to do with THAT," his eyes on the broad balcony outside their room. A balcony that now held a very large black leopard, staring in at them with brilliant glass-green eyes.

Solo drew his gun carefully, and the damned leopard GRINNED at him, turned and jumped all in one movement. The two UNCLE agents dashed out and looked down; they were on the twelfth floor, after all! Nothing on the sidewalk below, nothing apparently on any of the other balconies.

Reholstering their guns, they went back inside, carefully pulling the sliding door closed and latching it. They didn't speak for several minutes.

"Napoleon, how do you feel about cats??"

"I am less in favor of them than I was before this trip, I must admit. I suppose Mr. Waverly would be annoyed if we called him to report that little incident too?"

"Assuredly. Especially if you mention the ruby necklace it appeared to be wearing, or the matching earrings."

"Ah, yes, I was wondering if you had noticed those. Did you happen to notice they seem to be a match for the ones in that portrait at Mama K's? The one of the young woman who looked so much like her?"

"The young woman who looked so much like her, or WAS perhaps her in her younger years, Napoleon. It would perhaps be something worth taking a closer look at."

Solo looked at his partner, then back to the balcony. "I was afraid you were going to say something like that."

"Come to bed, Napoleon. Tomorrow is another day, and one that can only be improved by having a good night's sleep before hand."

And Napoleon couldn't think of one good reason to disagree. 

 

Napoleon tried a little congenial conversation with the fanboat operator and surprisingly the man had no objection to discussing Dumair, this Kishara, OR Mama K. So the conversation had to be held at the top of their lungs at times, but still, the two agents learned a lot. 

"So Kishara is Mama K's granddaughter. I'm surprised she didn't mention that to us."

Gaston shrugged, "she might not have thought of it, but more likely she's doing what she has always done, ever since she stepped down. Letting Kishara handle things without interference. She has always said, there can be only one leader, one Queen. As I heard it, it was the same when she took over for her own grandmother; she was trained to rule, and when her grandmother thought it was the right time, she stepped aside and Mama K - she was known as Kashanti when she ruled - took over and the old woman never interferred. Oh, I am certain that the new queen relies on the older one for advice, but it is advice asked for, not given without being asked."

"You seem to know quite a lot about them," Illya spoke up, his inate suspicion riding high. 

He got a laugh in return, but the look in those green eyes was friendly enough. "That is hardly surprising. Mama K's younger brother was my uncle. They are more family than not," and his smile turned to a deep frown. "Certainly more than that batard Dumair, him and his snakes and his guns and his followers who think to bully and steal. We may not have much, here in the swamp, but what we have is ours, and we do not take to outsiders trying to take what is ours."

Neither agent could argue with that sentiment, though they did wonder just how safe they were with this member of Kishara's extended family. Somehow Gaston seemed to see their apprehension, because his smile came back, more reassuring this time.

"Mama K says you are, if not friends, at least not enemies, perhaps allies. She also says it is possible this Dumair might find your presence uncomfortable and try to do something about it. We are to keep an eye out, help if we can. But you must be on your guard as well. There are not so many of us, and it would not do to bring this Dumair's friends down on our families. We cannot afford a war, unless the Queen declares it so."

 

Climbing the stairs to their room at Mama K's, they paused at the oil painting on the landing. "She is really quite beautiful, you know," Illya remarked to their hostess. "Or should I say, YOU were really quite beautiful?" deciding to get the question out in the open. 

He wasn't really expecting the pleased warm laughter.

"I suppose it was the necklace that gave us away. Yes, SHE really was beautiful, or so I always believed. My own grandmother, Katasi. Though I suppose that sounds egotistical to claim, since it was said we looked much alike," laughing again when the men nodded. 

Her smile grew, "as my granddaughter looks much like me. Yes, I know Gaston told you; it was well done of him. I wasn't quite sure how to broach the subject. Tomorrow I will take you to meet her. She and the people have much they can tell you of this Dumair. And in the meantime, you can perhaps tell me of this 'Thrush', the ones for whom he wishes to claim our lands. I have a rather fine bottle of wine we can share while you explain these matters to me."

 

Yes, Kishara looked much like Mama K must have in her twenties, just as regal, and with the same underlying warmth as the older woman had now. That raspy purr in her voice was remarkably attractive, soothing and arousing all at the same time; Napoleon noticed his partner seemed to find it especially so. And she DID have a great deal to say about Dumair and Thrush. And somehow, Kishara's calm reassurance that they could leave it in her hands, now that she understood the whole story, well, that seemed reasonable too. Especially when they saw her rather lovely form melt away at the treeline, transform, and turn; it was slightly disconcerting to be faced with a sleek and shiny black leopard, still wearing that necklace and earings, the symbols of her authority. 

 

The skull that appeared on their bedside rug two nights later had been startling, of course, but Mama K had just tsk tsk'd about the 'untidiness' and 'I know I taught that child better than that!'. She picked up the skull and put it on top of the bookcase in the corner next to a few other oddments. 

"There, that is much better, no?"

Somehow neither Napoleon or Illya could find the right words, only smiled slightly weak smiles.

 

"It is not that Kishara found you unlikeable, you understand," Mama K explained, somewhat apologetically, watching them pack their bags. "It is simply that it is best that outsiders do not come here. There are so many ways that could go wrong, create problems. You agree?" 

Napoleon cleared his throat, remembering all he'd seen over the past few days. "Yes, I do see your point, Mama K. I, we, will do our best to make sure there are no intrusions from our people, or if there are, that it was not intentional or done lightly."

He looked over at Illya, who was gazing out the window towards where Kishara had disappeared into the trees. It seems his partner was a little besmitten with the young Queen. Napoleon could see that, but somehow, wasn't overly happy with it. Well, it wasn't like there was a fairy tale ending waiting, her with her retinue of consorts. He just hoped she wasn't intending to expand the list to include a fairhaired Russian.

Then Illya turned, and gave him that smile, the slightly shy one that always equally disturbed and attracted Napoleon on the most elemental levels. Perhaps his partner wasn't all that besmitten after all.

Though Illya did mention, ever so casually, once they'd returned home to New York, "I think perhaps I might take Brenda from Research up on her offer of a kitten. A cat just adds some extra flavor to life, don't you think?"

Napoleon just gave him a long look, "haven't you had enough of cats for the moment?" only to get an oddly serene look in return. 

"I've always had a weakness for cats, Napoleon. Which do you think, male or female? One of the black ones or the pale yellow ones?"

"Definitely one of the blond males, Illya. I have a few weaknesses of my own, you know."

Yes, that smile was back, and Napoleon leaned back in his seat, well satisfied with what it told him.


End file.
